


Blackbird.

by Tryn25



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Tony Stark - Fandom
Genre: Abandonment, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Character Death, Character Development, Daughter Reader, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Heavy Angst, Marvel Universe, Mental Instability, Other, Parent Tony Stark, Road Trips, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Trauma, avenger - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:01:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tryn25/pseuds/Tryn25
Summary: Fifteen years ago, Tony abandoned both the woman he loved and their newborn daughter. After the events of her mother's death Tony is offered a second chance with the daughter he left behind — the daughter he never wanted. The pair reluctantly trek to Y/n's hometown on a journey that will change the course of both of their lives. Along the way, hearts are broken, but even stronger bonds are formed.
Relationships: Tony Stark & Reader, Tony Stark/Daughter!Reader, Tony Stark/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. PROLOGUE: The Letter.

# PROLOGUE: The Letter.

**July twelfth**

**Manhattan, New York**

_I used to think I had to die in order to redeem myself, but I've since come to learn that death is not a logical way to confront my sins._

_It's been a while; too long since my last confession. I guess when hope is lost, though, it makes sense to turn to your last resort. It would take a lifetime to confess each one of my sins. It's best to just acknowledge my screw-ups now, as I look back, and then look forward to seek my redemption._

_The day we visited your mother's grave, you asked me if I believed in God. I told you no, which is true. I don't. I guess you could say I have too much pride in myself and my creations. Selfishness and greed have blinded me from things I now will never possess. But, since meeting you, I’ve found myself praying; to whom I don’t really know. Maybe to the universe; for it to let me have you and finally forgive myself. But, that’s not how things work — it’s just not that easy. _

_When I found out it wasn't just me and your mother anymore, I was angry. I couldn't bring myself to love you, when you came between us. I never smiled at the sound of unblemished, innocent laughter. I couldn't fall asleep, choking with the pungent smell of new life in my room and on my sheets._

_One day, I made that all come to an end. Loneliness and guilt was the price to pay. I lost more than just my best friend and the woman I loved that day. I lost you. I lost my daughter, all because of my wrongdoings._

_That makes you my greatest sin._

_For far too long, I've hurt the people I love. I want to end that now, starting with you. Granted, you hate me. Trust me, I know. But I want nothing more than for you to be happy. So, I'm here now, admitting my wrongs, hoping to receive something more than just forgiveness._

_I can't change the past. I can't forget my sins. They're branded to me, already ugly scars. But I'm here now, and this time it's not raining. Maybe that makes you my redemption._

_Are you my redemption, or are you my greatest sin?_

_God, I hope you're my redemption._


	2. CHAPTER ONE: Inception.

# CHAPTER ONE: Inception.

**In·cep·tion**

/inˈsepSH(ə)n/

_noun_

noun: **inception** ; plural noun: **inceptions**

The establishment or starting point of an institution or activity.

\- 

**May thirtieth**

**Philadelphia**

I glance at Tony from across the booth we both uncomfortably sat, studying him. I watch as his mouth moves under the shadow of a black cap then, but I don't hear him. “What'd you say?” I pause my music and pull out an ear bud. Then, I listen. 

“Why are you always listening to music?” He repeats, dark eyes scanning over a laminated menu.

For the most part, things are usually quiet between us two. But, I don't like silence. So, I lose myself in my music as my eyes dance around my surroundings, observing what I can. After all, I’ve never been to Philadelphia before. Everywhere I look there is something new to see. 

But, for some reason though, he finally speaks to me. At that, I bite the inside of my cheek and shrug sheepishly. Still, I say nothing, and begin gently gnawing at my bottom lip. 

I hear Tony let out a heavy sigh and, sneaking a glance, I watch him lean back in his chair, almost in defeat. There it is — that tenseness. That bitterness that lingers between us. 

Tony looks tired; beyond exhausted and maybe even annoyed. I can tell doesn't want to be here, to be with me, and I know that. At least the feeling remains mutual.

We're at a diner somewhere down in Philadelphia: grease stains, torn seat cushions, and peeling old fashioned wallpaper. We’re only a few hours away from Manhattan and, in a way, I’m beginning to feel better. I don't feel as trapped out here — on the road, that is; compared to everything else, it's the closest thing I've had to a breath of fresh air, even if melancholy follows closely behind. 

Past all of the awkward tension between Tony and I and the cozy feeling of early summer, this is all so frustrating to me. Summer isn’t supposed to be like _this_ ; on days like these, I’m supposed to be hanging out with my friends until past curfew. I’m supposed to be walking down a beach soaking in warmth and sunshine. I'm supposed to be going out to those open fields to watch the fireworks. On days like these, I’m supposed to be having the time of my life at those small countryside carnivals, just like I used too. I’m supposed to be _home_. 

But I’m not, and I haven’t been for weeks. 

Summer used to be fun, eventful, and exciting; I feel none of that. I don’t know what I feel anymore. My life fell apart and I got stuck with my biological father, a stranger to me. 

I notice that the table beside us is being cleaned by a waitress, and the cleaner she sprays on the table reeks of bleach. It’s an all too familiar smell and that smell reels me in from my previous thoughts. Images of a suffocating bleak white room strike me then, and all the self-consuming emotions that came with feeling trapped there. It doesn’t take much for me to remember that night. To remember mom. 

Everytime I think of her, the thought that usually follows is the messy, busy, over crowded Manhattan — the city I had just been in earlier today. And if I think of Manhattan, I think of Tony. I hate cities and I hate Tony. Or at least I want to believe that I do... 

"How's your head?" Tony asks, but he’s not genuine. I don't sense any sincerity, any affection in his voice. He doesn't even look at me when he speaks. He’s simply… cold. Closed off.

"I-" I purse my lips. " 'm okay." 

He gives me a harsh glare, like he knows I'm lying. He doesn’t seem to care either way, as his eyes avert back down to a laminated menu. I look down at my hands in my lap, wondering if I should still say something. I was wondering if I should _try_. 

Anxiety begins trickling through me. My fingers begin to have a mind of their own as they fidget and pick painfully at my nails. I push through that dark, deep gut feeling of heartache before it can reach my chest and consume me entirely as I look at Tony again, my father. I’ve been with him for about two weeks now and I don’t think his presence will ever be comforting. I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever get used to. 

"Headache," I mutter, knowing he could probably care less. "'m groggy too." 

He hums absentmindedly. "Try to get more sleep in the car. We still have a few more hours to go."

-

I pause my music when the waitress finally makes her way over to our table. Most of the workers here are on the older side, and most if not all of the other customers are truckers. 

I notice that the waitress looks agitated: There’s a crease between her dirty blonde brows, the curls that tumble down over her shoulder are a bit messy and flat, and she’s chomping down on some pink bubblegum. I watch Tony go on with his order casually — an omelet with toast, not really caring for her attitude. 

Tony always knows how to handle people. I on the other hand, not so much. He may be my father by blood but we’re nowhere near the same, not in the slightest. She looks over at me after writing down Tony's order in her small notebook. My mind draws to a blank and my lips part. 

“She'll have an omlet too,” Tony speaks for me confidently, and I peer up. His actions annoy me, even the waitress, but she writes down what he says nevertheless. “A side of,” he looks over at me with an inquisitive brown brow raised. “bacon?” I open my mouth to answer, but I guess it’s a rhetorical question, since Tony turns right back to the waitress and says, “Yeah, with a side of bacon and some toast.”

When the waitress takes her leave, Tony looks over at me again, catching my glare. He's totally unfazed by me and he raises an amused brow. 

“A thank-you would suffice,” he says. I say nothing and notice, to my delight, that he doesn’t like being ignored. When I don’t reply he tuts and reaches for a white mug, taking a sip of some diner coffee. He grimaces and mumbles to no one in particular, “God, this coffee’s _awful_.” 

I run cut fingers over the stitched skin on the corner of my forehead, gently itching at the forming scar. I think of mom again. 

Anxiety creeps in on me, an exhausting cycle that’s on repeat. My hands fall down to my lap and I fidget some more. This time, my fingers go to run over the dry skin of my knuckles. I stay silent for a while as I listen to the distant chatter of other customers in the diner, and some more incoherent grumbles from Tony. Luckily, it’s a good enough distraction that calms the painful palpitations in my chest. Tony tends to ramble a lot, I’ve noticed. 

I have no idea why Tony decided to go through with this — to bring me back home for the summer. I have no idea what his motives are. All I know is that he sure as hell isn't doing it willingly. That man, the one sitting across from me, I’m convinced is heartless. What I do know is the farther away from New York I am, the better off I’ll be. 

Tony’s life had seemed so well put together. When I came into the picture, it felt like I was the only thing staining its perfection. 

It makes me want to scream.

One after one, I can feel the dominos begin to fall. I suck in a breath when the glass door of the diner opens with a new customer entering. A gust of crisp, warm, clean air washes over me. I shiver. What should have been calming wasn't. Suddenly, I can feel myself walking closer and closer to the edge of panic.

It’s unpredictable, and the sudden tightness in my chest is blindsiding. 

_I need to relax._

So, I take a breath. I let it out. It doesn’t really help. These constant ups and downs are draining me. 

I peer up and see the look on Tony's face, scrutinizing me with both brows furrowed. His lips are pursed and it looks like he’s stuck between judging me and trying to figure me out like I’m some quantum mechanics equation. 

I mirror his expression, my eyebrows furrowing. “ _W_ _hat?”_

 _  
_Tony shakes his head, scratching at his beard before disregarding my comment. He’s so indifferent about everything. The waitress comes then, placing our lunch not so gently on the table.I look down at my food, ready to eat, but my stomach starts churning.

“You should eat.” Tony says with a mouth full of food without even looking up, digging into his omelette as if he was starved for days. 

He’s right, but my stomach feels heavy, my chest is queasy, and the thought of eating makes me nauseous. My gaze adverts down to my hands and suddenly his question from earlier presses to the front of my mind.

_Why are you always listening to music?_

Painful memories burn and cut deeper than I ever thought they could. They press to the forefront of my mind, and a merciless headache pounds at my temples then; dangerous memories threaten to spill over and knock me down. I don’t want to examine them, and I certainly don’t want to think about that night. But, my mind is relentless. My mind is my enemy. The second I think I find peace, a calm within a storm, my mind tries to break me. Especially at the most inconvenient times, like right now.

Then, I feel myself begin to slip-

“Hey. _Kid!”_ My gaze snaps up suddenly. I blink a few times when I look at Tony, hickory eyes gazing intently into mine. He’s agitated when he asks, “What’s wrong with you?” My lips part at his sudden rude demeanor. “Didn't you hear me talking to you?”

I feel the muscles in my neck flex, my nose flare, and I feel anger like a wildfire spread along my whole body. My next words are unexpected, and harsher than I intended. 

All of the silverware, cups, and plates clatter under the force of my hand slamming on the table. The sound is sharp and piercing.

“You're a _fucking asshole,_ you know that!?” The second the words fall past my lips, the anger slips away and is replaced by embarrassment. 

For a moment, all I can think about is how different I was before all of this. How happy I was. The old me would have never acted like this — so _hateful_.

All eyes in the room fall on us. Instead of silence falling over just the two of us, everything ices over in the dinner.

My mother had said she never hated Tony; even when we were at our lowest, struggling when he _easily_ could have taken care of us. She said she never hated him when we read about his success in the papers, or when we witnessed some of the women he would end up with on TV. I _knew_ it killed her on the inside. She hadn't- _we_ hadn’t seen him in years, and somehow he was still there breaking her heart. 

Yet, she claimed to _never_ have hated him.

I take a shallow breath and push it out deliberately hard between clenched teeth. I don’t know how she did it. I don’t know how she ever loved this man.

Then, something steams in my chest and crashes over me, begging to just be released, to be taken out on him. _Anger_. He brings out the worst in me, the parts I despise. How could _anyone_ love him? 

Then, his words replay themselves in my head like an old movie reel. 

_What’s wrong with you?_

Maybe he’s right. Maybe there is something wrong with me. Everything crashes and burns then, and transforms into wallowing, all-consuming self pity.

“Everythin’ all right over there?” A man sitting at the counter hollars over to us, a southern accent prominent. 

The stranger's voice reels me back. I nod softly. Tony grunts out a curt “Yeah.” I can tell his patience has run out, and for once he's not talking. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and, gradually, conversation around the diner picks up again.

Sometimes I catch myself having moments where I want to speak to him despite his rudeness. Sometimes I contemplate actually initiating a conversation with him. But, when I look at him — I mean _really_ look at him — I'm reminded of every holiday he’s missed, or every birthday he’s forgotten, and anger is usually the only end result. 

This leads to the questions that have been lingering on my tongue for years now.

_Why?_

Why wasn’t he there? 

There are so many “whys” and not enough time in the day to go over each one of them. Even if I did go over them, and spend hours analyzing every possibility, I’d get to the same end result; I don’t know. 

I don’t know why me and mom weren’t good enough for him. Looking at him now and seeing how indifferent, how sarcastic he is about everything, I can only assume walking out on us was easy. 

I quickly stop my thoughts from reeling because I can feel years worth of hurt and anger boil under my skin. It almost scares me. 

Unlike last time, I keep quiet. It’s not like these feelings towards him are new after all. I went my whole life wondering why I didn’t have the privilege of having an attentive and loving dad. I didn’t have an answer then, I don’t have an answer now. 

At one point, it looks like Tony wants to say something to me but, instead, all he does is stand up abruptly while saying, “Hurry up and finish.” He takes the napkin that was on his lap and throws it onto his nearly empty plate.

“We gotta go.” Then he storms away, I assume to the bathroom. I realize I’m alone. Really alone. I went my whole life with only one parent, one protector — my mom. 

But, she’s gone. 

I sit there in silence, mind numb, but, slowly, my attention is drawn to the people around me. I watch them silently, pushing myself into the corner of the booth and wrapping my arms loosely around myself. 

One man, maybe one of the truckers driving one of the many semis parked outside the diner, manages to make the waitress that had just served Tony and I laugh. I notice she has a beautiful smile that had been hidden behind a deep scowl. She pours the man another cup of coffee, grinning now.

I still feel sick, but for some reason, watching the people in the diner, the knot in my stomach begins to ease in the slightest. I wonder if other people ever take the time to sit back and look at people, wondering what _their_ story is. Because everyone has a story and each one is different. 

I reach for my iPod, fingers slightly trembling as they dance across the cracked screen in anticipation of hearing her voice again. I play my mother’s music, and suddenly everything is okay for a few moments. I'm grounded. I feel normal again. 

I don't know much, but I do know that this is going to be a _very_ long summer.

\- 

When Tony comes back, he pays for our food, leaving a too-gracious tip for the waitress, who surely didn't deserve it, and leaves without a second glance my way. I sigh, willing myself to stand up and follow him.

The sight of his car makes me sick and suddenly I'm grateful I only took a few tiny bites of my food. If I had eaten everything, surely I would have thrown it all up by now. Before Tony steps into his all-black Audi A8, he turns my way. He throws one hand up. "You comin’? Or would you rather walk five hundred miles to North Carolina?" 

His tone only makes me feel worse. Maybe we should have taken a plane. I have a feeling that might've been easier for me than stepping inside a car. Tony grows tired of waiting for me and ducks in the car, turning it on. I swallow. What other choice do I have? I’ve made it this far already. I can do this. 

I take a breath. I push through my fear and I push down my panic and enter the car. We've come all this way and yet, I don't think this'll ever get easier for me. Not again.

Tony gives me a peculiar look but says nothing.

"S-sorry." I mutter and I don’t know why. He doesn’t deserve an apology and he certainly doesn’t deserve an explanation. Again, he says nothing and in a few moments we’re back on the road.

Half an hour in, were back on the highway. Thirty minutes after that we’re passing through Wilmington, a city in Delaware. Time passes torturously slow for me and the car ride remains silent.

That is until Tony decidedly breaks the silence. 

"You should know, nothing is going to come out of this. Understand?” His voice is unusually firm and rigid. His usual playful and sarcastic façade cracks. 

He spares me a glance before looking back over at the long road ahead. “You’re only with me until the end of summer, right before the trial takes place. After that, you’ll never see me again.”

Saying this seemed to be as easy as breathing for him. Without a second glance, without hesitation or even remorse, he confirms what I didn’t even know I was afraid of: _rejection_. He rejects me, he makes it known that I’m unwanted by him and _God_ , it _fucking_ hurts. When hasn’t it ever hurt? Tony has never wanted me and deep down, I was a fool to hope — hope he would change. 

But, at least now I know it’s true.

Even with our differences, I thought he would’ve taken this trip as our chance, as _his_ chance to fix everything that had been broken since he left. If he had, I would have tried so hard to be patient, to _forgive_ , but I guess that doesn’t matter to him.

I guess I don’t matter.

The thing about Tony is that he always lays everything out. He throws all of his cards out on the table, and he always dots his “I’s” and crosses his “T’s”. He’s a remarkably candid person, despite his reputation. So I know, when he speaks to me, he doesn’t lie.

There’s a heavy, overwhelming sense of loneliness that hits me again, sitting in the car beside a man who’s supposed to love me but doesn't. He seems to be all I have, and yet that’s somehow worse than having nothing at all. The most important people in my life have either died or don’t want me. I feel so unsafe.

In a haze, I grab my iPod and my earbuds. In my head, Tony’s words echo like a mantra in the thick silence of the car. I want it all to just _stop_. That, in itself, scares me. So, I block it out. I block the world out. Then, softly, the music plays. I hear her voice.

**_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_ **

**_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_ **

**_All your life_ **

**_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_ **


	3. CHAPTER TWO: Denial.

# CHAPTER TWO: Denial.

**De·ni·al**

/dəˈnīəl/

_noun_

noun: **denial**

The failure to acknowledge an unacceptable truth or emotion or to admit it into consciousness, used as a defense mechanism.

-

**May thirty-first**

**Richmond, Virgina**

I’m stuck in a spiral. I'm light headed and I find myself in an old truck: rust, stains, and chipped paint. It was that night again. I can hear her voice talking to me: thousands of tiny bells, gentle like wind in the trees.

I'm besides her while she drives, her eyes on the dark road ahead. She pulls up to a red light. I can _see_ her, I can feel and bask in the warmth of her presence and the security it brings; I almost feel safe there.

Then, I feel my eyes burn. My gaze falls from her face and I look out the driver's side window over her shoulder, bright lights blinding me. I can't stop what comes next, I've never been able to. It’s _too_ fast. I start thrashing, I scream with everything I have but she only smiles at me with that perfect smile. I'm forced to watch it, to endure it all over again. The lights get closer and closer. Then it echoes in my ears; one last gasp.

_Suddenly, it’s Cold. It's so cold._

A firm hand is placed on my shoulder, shaking me awake. It reels me back from my nightmare. “Hey. You alright?” Tony’s voice seems so distant and far as I blink the weariness from my eyes. I’m too out of breath- too out of sorts to answer him immediately. 

In the next moment I realize I’m teetering on the edge of a panic attack because the breath is robbed from my lungs. I’ve had a lot of these lately. “Hey, kid. Are you okay?” Tony has one hand on the wheel, the other squeezing too tightly at my shoulder. His dark eyes flicker from me and to the road repeatedly, and he doesn’t look quite sure on what to do. 

The sound of his voice gives some something to latch on to. It reminds me that I'm not stuck in that truck anymore, trapped, and reliving that night. I'm with Tony and for now, maybe it's the safest place to be, even if I don't want it to be.

“Please tell me you’re _not_ going to throw up everywhere. Not here. Not in my Audi.” He shakes his head and says, “nu-uh.” 

I swallow, my mouth dry. Usually I would have just rolled my eyes at his remark but I ignore it. The pressure around my neck is constricting, painful even. “I-I'm okay.” His hand retracks quickly from my shoulder in a dismissive manner, but I do feel his eyes linger on me for a moment more. 

When I realize just how dark it is outside, an unsettling queasiness takes root in my gut again. _Panic._ I breathe and ground myself as best I can and look over at the center console. It's only five minutes past midnight. I’ve only slept for three hours. That’s actually the longest I've slept in a while... At least there were only a few more hours on the road — six at most. 

For a second, I'm able to breathe again; without struggle, without any pain.

Soon, I'd be _home_.

Sometimes the idea of home and the warmth and belonging it’s supposed to bring goes cold and brittle. Every good memory is shrouded over in black and white. I know she’s gone, but sometimes I feel like she’s still there, at home, waiting for me. 

_God_ , I miss her.

After I was escorted to New York, I met Tony at a courthouse in Manhattan. It was after a trial. As far as I’m concerned, my aunt will officially become my guardian after summer ends. Which is why I don’t understand why he took me on this trip. My aunt said something about getting to know one another, though, he’s made it abundantly clear he doesn’t want that. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was forced into all of this. 

For about a week I lived in the Tower. He only acknowledged me when he had to and it was always awkward conversations, more awkward than they are now. He usually sent other people to check in on me rather than himself and he always had something else or someone else more interesting to take up his time. He was curt, cold, and dismissive. 

Then, I put it together. I was his big secret, the one that could potentially ruin his entire career. How would the world react if they found out I existed?

After a few days, I accepted that Tony was too busy living his lavish lifestyle: immersed in the media and his work, concerned about the public’s opinion and his fame.

His image and his creations are everything to him and, from what I’ve seen and heard, so are the avengers. 

Everything is more important to him than me.

Sometimes, I’m happy he left. Even if he had stayed, mom and I never would have been his first priority. He’s self absorbed, he’s narcissistic, and problematic. So much so, I find it sickening. But people flock to him, naturally. To everyone he’s amazing. A fucking _hero_. 

To the world, Tony Stark is what people should aspire to be. To the world, he’s a perfect man living a perfect life.

What a load of bullshit. 

At the end of the day though, I don’t understand what his intentions are or why he decided to go through with this. I vaguely ever spoke of my home while in New York. Honestly, I can only recall one time speaking of it, and I thought he had been ignoring me at that moment. 

The churning of my stomach reels me back into the current. I lick my lips and I try to stay still. Then, my head starts pounding with a headache, stabbing at my temples. I don’t care though. I reach for my iPod, yanking it off the charger. I don't even realize my hands are shaking until my fingers are hovering over the buttons. I take a breath, waiting for those thousands of tiny bells to ring in a gentle breeze as I put my earbuds in.

I play it on it's highest volume. I don’t care if my ears start bleeding or if my head is pounding like a drum — I _need_ this. Hearing her voice brings me a comfort no one else could provide. 

Suddenly, the car is jerked to the right and I nearly jump out of my seat _._ My hands grip tightly at anything that can secure me. 

Fear is never fun, especially when it crashes over you, drowning your body and mind. Tony looks anxious for a split second and, before I realize it, we’re pulling into a dark parking lot off on the side of the highway. It’s only when he puts the car in park I allow myself to move. I pull out my earbuds.

“Tony, what are-” he gets out of the car and I fumble with the door handle and follow. “What are you doing? North Carolina is only a few more hours away!” My whole arm jesters back to the highway.

“We’re sleeping here tonight.” Tony looks over at the building, an outdated motel: Old flickering lights with a strong stench of cigarette smoke. 

“What? Why?”

I can tell he’s annoyed by the way his lips press together and form a straight line, and frustration crickles in his eyes. He closes his eyes for several moments before answering. “Because we've been on the road for hours and, frankly, I’m exhausted.”

“B-but, we can make it!”

Tony lets out an exasperated sigh. “Well, if someone wasn't a little scaredy-cat and too afraid to get on a jet, we’d already be in North Carolina. But, _noooo_ . You know what we’re doing? We’re traveling six hundred miles by car to _your_ hometown.”

I open my mouth, ready to strike him with some snarky remark because _god_ , he’s so annoying, but I stop, feeling a sudden tightness in the back of my throat. I see Tony raise a brow in my direction but I turn away, not able to stop the hot rising bile in the back of my throat as I hunch over and puke. I cough after, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Oh, wow, that's-” Tony offers a look of grave distaste, cringing. “ _Disgusting_.” I stand there a few moments more, coughing.

“Shut up.” I cough out. “ _You narcissistic asshole_ -” I spit out insults left and right but they don't really seem to offend him. He just stands there, scratching at his beard, waiting for me to finish. I’m still coughing involuntarily, my throat burning when I feel my eyes brimming with tears. 

“Why do you _always_ have to ruin _everything_?” It's summer. The night air is already thick and muggy, but these words linger around us with a certain weight that makes it nearly impossible for me to breathe. Yet, everything I ever say or do seems to never bother him. He seems perfectly fine and it pisses me off to no end.

I see red but my chest aches. “Why did you even agree to this, Tony?” I breathe for a moment and Tony's eyes narrow in my direction. His gaze is unyielding. “Y-you don't _care_ about me,” I seeth, knowing those words could never hurt him like they hurt me. And it pisses me off because I know _he's never really cared._ He never will. “You were never there for the holidays, Tony! Not my birthdays o-or those father daughter dances-” I heave in a breath. “You were _never_ there. So what's so different now, huh?”

I see him clench his jaw but eventually, he huffs out a humorous laugh. I take the chance to wipe away a stray tear that tickles my cheeks angrily. “Are you here because you pity me?” I signal to my face: fading bruises and stitches. “Or is this some sick type of redemption for leaving my mother since she's _dead_ now?” I take a step back, almost stumbling over my own two feet, shaky hands pushing back stray strands of hair. It hit me hard this time after I had said it.

 _She’s dead_.

There's a moment of silence and he watches me as I fight a losing battle. I refuse to unfold, not in front of him at least. He doesn’t deserve my tears, he doesn’t deserve _anything_ from me. But still, I have no effect on him and it only fuels my unstable emotions. 

“Do you want me to deny it?” Tony asks, stalking forward with slow, taunting steps. “That I'm only here because I _pity_ you? That I don't care about you?” I see it then, a flash of anger igniting in pools of brown. He jabs a finger in my direction and his nostrils flare. “And that oh so- _sick_ -redemption?” I don't say anything and he snaps. “ _Do you?_ ” I jump back at the sharpness of his voice.

“ _Yes_.” My voice breaks. As much as I hate him, I want him to deny it all. I want him to deny everything that he’s made abundantly clear. 

I want him to _love_ me.

Tony breaths. “...Well, I can't. ”

\- 

It's six in the morning when I decide to get out of the motel room I was in: Cracked drywall, carpet stains, and lumpy spring beds. I had listened to my music all night and all morning, and I tried so hard to just lose myself in it, but… 

Everything good eventually ends. 

Each time the music stopped I was left with my endless thoughts that only reminded me of her. Sometimes I wish I could just run but how do I run away from _this_?

Early in the morning, I find myself in a field behind the motel. Uncut grass tickles my ankles as I walk to a dark oak picnic table that seemed long forgotten about. I end up sitting on top of the table with my backpack open besides me, my feet resting against the bench below me. For the most part, that bag came around with me everywhere.

In my hand there's a pen being held tightly between slim fingers, its tip gliding across the skin of my arm. My notebook is besides me, the one that contained my deepest thoughts and confessions. 

The first dozen pages of my notebook had been dedicated to my school work; mostly neat science notes in colorful pen ink with the top right side corner of each page labeled with dates. It was my life before the crash. The rest of my notebook is a mess now. 

Everything is scattered, out of order, and some pages were even torn in half in frustration. The days I think I can take it, I flip through the pages randomly from beginning to end. Today I did that. When I realized the book now resembles the messy, torn, scrambled thoughts of my mind I got frustrated and I tossed it aside. Momentarily, it’s forgotten about.

From fingers, to palm, to wrist the red marks follow in harsh straight lines. I press down harder and eventually, my skin rises in wake of the pens tip like a healing scar as I go. For the hours I had spent miserable and wide awake, this kept me occupied and stopped rushed and panicked thoughts. It put the anger at bay. It’s a temporary relief, enough to satisfy for a moment.

It was early. The world seemed dead around here just a few minutes ago but, eventually, the sun's golden light filters over everything, emitting a soft golden hue. It's still, it's serene, and it's beautiful. I forgot early summer mornings brought a particular peace, a peace I feel like I can no longer attain. 

When sunshine reaches me it expands across my skin. It’s warm. It’s comforting almost. It makes me shiver, but mostly it only reminds me of what’s missing and all the why’s and what if’s. I inhale. I close my eyes. Wet lashes come to rest on my cheeks. After everything that's happened I'd do _anything_ to stop feeling like this. 

I learned quickly that fighting with Tony is exhausting and painful, especially when I feel something so close to resentment when I see the way he looks at me. I've only known him for a few weeks but I don't think anyone's capable of hurting me like he is and _God_ — I hate him for it.

I hate him for making me feel like I’m never good enough, not for anyone.

I put my pen away and I don’t bother reaching for my iPod right now even though it'd probably be the best thing for me. When I look up there's a sudden flash of black against brown oak and green leaves as it lands in a twist of branches. It's nothing too extravagant to the eye, a black bird, but it had me staring, even admiring as it sang it's sad song.

It lifts its wings and flutters them against a warm breeze. I catch a glimpse of red feathers hidden under its wings — a flash of color against black. It's _beautiful._

I watch it leave, tiny black wings carrying it away. I sit there, trying to enjoy the warmth of a new day but I can’t find it in myself to do so. I shake my head before letting my head fall into my hands. Tony was right. 

“What’s _wrong_ with me?”

-

When I see Tony he's leaning on the hood of his all black Audi. There's a cup of coffee in hand, and a dark set of sunglasses resting on his nose. I push down a laugh. He has serious bed head this morning.

When I get closer I can hear the slight distaste and impatience in his voice when he speaks. “I've been waiting for an hour.” 

I say nothing but the sound of his cold voice only weighs me down some more. Tony looks confused and it’s evident in the crease of his brows. He tilts his head to one side. “What? No witty comments today? No _sporadic_ outburst?” I sigh and disregard his comment. 

I ask dejectedly. “Can we just go?” For a second Tony looks taken aback but he nods nonetheless. 

I force nothing but the fakest smile and adjust the straps to my backpack hanging over my shoulders. I turn but before I can even walk away to get to the passenger side of the car my hand is jerked back. I almost trip and fall on the hot pavement of the parking lot. “ _Hey!”_ I snap suddenly, trying to snatch my hand away from an iron grip. “What the hell? Let go of me you asshat-”

Tony jerks me back roughly and like lightning turns my whole arm, palm facing up. “What the hell- _”_ His grip hurts and I try pulling away from him one more time, cursing every cuss word I know. I see him swallow and his eyes scan over the thick red marks down my wrist. 

He seems almost relieved for a moment when I hiss, “It's _pen_.” He pauses. When he looks down at me and I can see the anger and something else I didn't recognize stir in him. He lifts his sunglasses to rest on top of his head and stares down more intently at my arm. I catch a glimpse — something stirring in his eyes. 

_Fear?_

“Who in their right mind uses a pen for something like-like _that?_ ” Tony lashes out. 

“Like I said, It's just pen ink.” I empathise, feeling anger boil in my core. “I got bored so I started drawing. It’s not a big deal.” He shakes his head at my excuse and maybe Tony is right. They aren't just drawings, not in the manner of which they were drawn, but when did my problems suddenly become his? 

I Idejet my gaze at the intensity of his deep umber eyes before muttering “It's really none of your business anyway,” but I can't get past Tony. He's annoying but he's not stupid. 

“That's _not_ the point.” He hisses through a clenched jaw. “It's the _thought,_ the _intentions_ that count.” He’s actually upset. He’s _fumming_. 

Scoffing he adds, “So, now you’re thinking of hurting yourself.” It wasn’t a question, it was a harsh statement. He makes me want to hide. He makes me feel ashamed. In all honesty, I never gave it much thought. I just _did_ it. None of that matters though. He won’t listen to me anyways.

I tug one more time but his grip is strong and unyielding. “What’s it to you?” My voice is spiteful but my eyes won’t reach his. I don’t know why but I can’t bear to look at him right now.

A few seconds go by before he curses under his breath _._ "I knew this trip was a bad idea.” He throws my arms back down to my side. He takes a step back. He grabs his sunglasses with one hand and with the other runs his fingers through his hair. _“Shit.”_ He turns away, pacing. 

“You really resent me… Don’t you Tony?” There was no thought in that statement, rather an acknowledgement.

His laugh is humorless and his voice is hostile, antagonistic in nature. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

His words hurt more than I care to admit. The next words just spill out of me. They even surprise me. 

“ _I hate you.”_

Somewhere in me there’s a pause.

_Did I hate him?_

For years I was confident I did so why was I second guessing myself now?

Maybe because when I finally say it out loud, when I finally put it out into the universe, it makes my chest hurt. It’s hard to breathe. Even tears prick at my eyes.

So, did I really hate him? I want to but no. No, I don’t think it’s hate that makes me like this. Suddenly, I feel like that lonely little girl all over again. The little girl that would cry herself to sleep because she didn’t have a dad around who wanted her. Who loved her. 

I want to mean those words, just how Tony believes his own words when he speaks down to me, but a part of me just _can’t_. That makes this all the more frustrating, but I don’t stop. A part of me wants to hurt him — to make him understand just a _fraction_ of what he makes me feel.

“You’re right, Tony. This trip was a mistake.”

Unexpectedly, I watch Tony's angry expression ease but his features grow hard a second after. My words must have held enough spite to make him halt, even for just a second. 

I wasn’t always like this — bitter and rude. It’s just another thing about me that’s changed and I hate it. I hate me.

And _God_ , I want to hate Tony too.

“Can we go now?” He doesn't say anything. A scoff tumbles off my lips. “Whatever.” I grumble, brushing past him roughly. I get in the passenger seat of the car and slam my door shut. Like a choreographed dance, I pull out my iPod, my thumbs dancing across the screen and with my shaking hands I put my earbuds in my ears.

I close my eyes.


	4. CHAPTER THREE: Disdain.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Flashback from Tony Stark's POV

# CHAPTER THREE: Disdain.

**Dis·dain**

/disˈdān/

_noun_

noun: **disdain** ; plural noun: **disdains**

The feeling that someone or something is unworthy of one's consideration or respect; contempt.

\- 

**May fourteenth**

**Manhattan, New York**

**y/m/n- your mother's name**

**y/a/n- your aunts name.**

There's an aching in Tony's skull when he walks up to the courthouse. He walks up the stone steps, and finds himself craving a delicious scorching in the back of his throat. One that burns in the most addictive way. But even then, he's not sure if it’s enough anymore. 

Haphazardly, he tries to buff out any wrinkles in his suit and throws on his sunglasses when he walks into the courtroom. There aren’t many people in the room but all eyes are on him. Not that he cares. 

Not even a minute after walking in, he hears a voice that makes his ears ring, head pound. “You’re _late_.” It’s a familiar voice — spiteful and venomous.

Instantly, his eye rolls skywards. He hasn’t seen her in over fifteen years or so but it’s safe to say, when he left, she was the last person he’d miss. Tony raises a brow, eyes scanning over the women, her lips pulling down in an irritated frown.

“Please Mr. Stark, take a seat.” The Judge insist with a gesture of his hand. Tony knows him. He’s been to court more times than he can count, and he's about the only Judge that’s ever shown a sliver of respect to him.

Tony takes a step forward, walking past the rows of seats. He hates how much light pours in through the stained windows. He grimaces when he speaks. “I’m here to sign some paper that releases my rights to my daughter?” He announces almost too eagerly.

Someone clears their throats obnoxiously loud. Tony groans at the annoyance of it all. “ _Tony_.” _Urg._ That voice. Even after all these years, it still goes right _fucking_ through him. It was the same woman as before that had been trying to get his attention when he first walked in. “Remember me?” The woman eyes him up and down, scrutinizing him like she used to always do. 

_Ha_. She always did hate him.

Tony barely spares her a glance and covers any guilt with sarcasm. “ _Nope_.” 

He shakes his head. He tells himself he doesn't feel like dealing with her right now, but maybe a part of him just can’t handle looking at her. When he sees y/a/n, he can see some resemblances of her sister — someone he used to love. Someone that he abandoned. Someone that’s now _dead_. His chest grows tight, memories start seeping into his intoxicated mind and he realizes he might be _too_ sober for this.

Out of the dozens of women that have been in and out of his life and the dozens of names he has forgotten, he just can’t seem to forget _them_. He can’t erase this part of his life no matter how hard he tries or how far he runs. 

So, Tony lives for those fleeting moments of forgetfulness. He lives for the distraction, whether it's alcohol or some pretty blonde spending the night in his bed. Forgetting is like being able to breathe, a fresh breath of air after drowning in an ocean of guilt that’s been consuming him his entire life.

But, it only lasts for moments. 

And he _always_ remembers. 

He always gets dragged back down under — to the deep end. He’s done wrong by so many people. He wonders if this torment is him paying the price for it all.

Tony’s thoughts go endlessly reeling and he's just _itching_ to reach for that flask. He needs it, he needs _something_ — _a distraction._

Suddenly, the Judge clears his throat and the tension in the room is momentarily forgotten about. "I hope you both understand that the well being for your daughter," the Judges eyes skim from Tony and then to Y/a/n. "and your niece is at stake here. It is in my best interest to put her in a home suitable for her mental and physical stability, especially after what she has gone through. She is going to need help. She’s going to need patience and support. If you two aren't willing or suitable enough for custody she _will_ be put into the system. A child protective service agent has already been assigned to Y/n." It was a silent threat, one that made Tony’s skin crawl. It was a threat that made him second guess himself for just a second.

The system is an unforgiving place.

If Tony really wanted custody, he could have it in a heartbeat. He knows that. He's a relentless man. He goes after what he wants and he _always_ gets what he wants, and will be damned if he doesn't. But-

_Did he want her?_

“Your honor, will I be able to go see my niece now?” the Judge spares her a nod.

“What about you, Mr. Stark?” Tony turns to the Judge then.

“Excuse me?” Tony asks, still standing, not even bothering to sit down.

“You’re free to go spend some time with your daughter, Mr. Stark. She was transferred from the Goshen Medical Center in North Carolina to the Bellevue Hospital Center in Manhattan two days ago for the trial. They’re just waiting on some lab results before they feel comfortable discharging her.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Tony explains curtly, running a hand through his messy hair. _"Anyways_ ,” he sighs. “where are those papers?”

“Wait, so you don’t want to fight for custody?” Y/a/n speaks up suddenly. Tony thought she had left.

“No,” Tony shakes his head, seemingly offended that she asked such a question. “why would I?”

Y/a/n scoffs. “Why am I not surprised?” She tuts and looks away. Tony realizes she’s too aggravated, maybe even disgusted, to even look in his general direction. “this little girl, _your_ little girl, deserves a father, Tony. She’s struggling.” He hears her voice weaver. 

"Mr. Stark," the Judge calls out to him after a fleeting moment. His statement feels more personal than professional. "Why don't you wait to sign those papers? Your family has gone through something tragic." Tony rolls his eyes and sighs. "It would make perfect sense to not be ready to make a decision right away. That being said, I can not grant you custody until you can prove you are _worthy_ of it. That includes being _clean_ Tony."

Tony pauses and then huffs. "Who said I wanted her anyway? I know I sure as hell didn’t say that." 

The Judge laughs humorously. "Tony, do you have any other children?" Tony shakes his head and takes his words with a grain of salt. "Children change you, for better or for worse. They give you… _perspective._ I think you could use some of that."

Tony lets out a scoff but the words repeat themselves in his, currently, hazy and scattered mind. His eyes fall to the floor and he bites his lip. He takes in a deep, much needed breath, and looks back up at the Judge. “Let’s come back to this at a further date,” the room falls incredibly somber. “I’ll see the two of you back in court on July twentieth.” the Judge concludes on one final note. 

-

“Oh, for christ sakes.” Tony swears under his breath when he sees Y/a/n coming, heels clicking against the marble floor. 

“Tony? Tony, we need to talk.” She pleads.

“There’s nothing else to discuss.” Tony says snarkily, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I'm not going to fight you for her. When the time comes I’ll sign over all my rights and you can have full custody, alright?” 

“Oh, can you stop with the attitude for _once_ ? This is about your _daughter_.” She snaps, grabbing Tony by the shoulder, forcing him to face her. There’s a slight tumble in his step and he knows that she notices. 

He curses.

“You’re a goddamn _mess_ ,” she whispers. He’s held subject to her scrutiny. She shakes her head and takes a step back from him. 

“I know you don’t necessarily _care_ about her, but at least listen to me.” He sees the frustration stir in her eyes but she keeps her voice down at an appropriate level in the hallway. Tony sighs, scratching his nose when she begins.

“I-I know my sister would have wanted her daughter to meet her father someday, okay? Y/n doesn’t know either of us too well. As far as I'm concerned, we're total strangers to her.” She inhales through her nose. “She has _no one_ , Tony.” Tony averts his gaze and looks down the hall, suddenly finding a fake plant much more interesting than the conversion at hand. “We were excluded from her life. I left because I was angry at my sister for throwing her life away — for being with someone like-like _you_ ,” _Not surprising._ “and then you left my sister when she had Y/n. We’ve _both_ made mistakes.” Tony doesn’t agree. _Leaving wasn't a mistake._ “But now my sister is _dead_.” 

Suddenly, Tony is reeled right back into the deep end of things. The word death hangs in the air like the stench of liquor. It makes him nauseous, it makes the numbness fade and suddenly, Tony's struck with reality once more. _Regret._

“Please,” she suddenly beggs. “she's been through _so_ much. After everything, Y/n deserves to know her father.” Tony says nothing. The wheels start turning, analyzing every probability and every _What If’s._

Y/a/n clears her throat, and blinks away the forming tears in her eyes. He's never seen her so vulnerable before. “Why don’t you take her for the summer, yeah? After everything, you should get to know her. Spend time with her. You at least owe her that.” She nods her head solemnly. “You probably already know that she was in the crash too. S-She's not okay. I went to see her the day she was transferred and she’s a little banged up and she hasn’t spoken. Not once. So, if you decide to take her just know that it won't be easy. Being a parent isn’t easy. You'll have to take care of her and, especially, be _patient_ with her.” Y/n/a pauses for a moment. “Come see her if you want. But, if you want nothing to do with her, don't even bother showing up. The last thing she needs right now is false hope.” 

Tony feels dizzy, he feels stressed and it's starting to get hard to breathe. He's never even met her — his daughter — and he's already a mess. He can't take care of her. Not even if he wanted to. He can barely take care of _himself_. 

“At the end of the day though, you are her father. You’re entitled to want her, Tony.” Her eyebrows pulled down then. “But, if you’re still as toxic as you were all those years ago, I won’t hesitate to take her from you.” She struggles to find the right words. “If you decide to sign over your rights, I want you gone, Tony. For good this time.” She concludes, ending the conversation on one final note. With that she leaves, leaving Tony standing alone in the courthouse hall.


End file.
